


i'll be ready (for the funeral)

by itsok



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, but here we are, but i can't help it, explorer!clarke is the light of my life, god i never meant for this to be such a downer, i promise i will write some fluff sooner or later, it was never supposed to go this far, my friends say its rude, please come and yell at me about it, please talk to me about this au i am dead inside
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 20:38:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9342806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsok/pseuds/itsok
Summary: No one believed Lexa when she said that the world would burn.Or, the world ends, but sometimes fate can be kind.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea from a lovely podcast. It moved me and I had to make it about Clexa. This deviates far from the central plot of the original podcast, but I like this more.

New York City did not believe Lexa when she said that the world was burning. 

 

She went on NPR, guest starred on talk shows, wrote letters to congress, and even resorted to standing on street corners to hand out fliers. No one took them. After two months of listening, the world deemed the Ivy League scholar as another doomsday prepper. The only ones that believed her were the Nightbloods.

 

But no one paid them any notice. To everyone else, they were simply just a bunch of crazy millennials seeking attention. 

 

But then it did get hot. 

 

Everything dried, everything scorched; people started dying quickly. And they were scared. Lexa had predicted the end- but she was powerless to stop it. 

 

That’s when they went underground. The cave was the last hope. The last cool and damp hope. Lexa and the Nightbloods piled the entrance with rocks. They knew they were only delaying the inevitable- this would be their tomb- but it was worth it. 

 

If only for a little more time. 

 

As the days passed, the air seemed to stale and thin out. They drank handfuls of the water each day, then less, then less, then none at all. Food consisted of earthworms, small bugs, or the occasional root found within the walls.

 

One night, as Lexa stared into the blackness of the cave, she listened to everyone’s breathing. Breathing became the new form of conversation. Lexa would listen for Nox’s labored pants, Aden’s sighs, and Prynn’s groans. They were all fast and shallow. Their throats were dry; their stomachs were empty. 

 

Lexa slowed her breath. One of hers for every two of theirs. Then one for every three, four, five of theirs. 

 

As a young child, her uncle told her about holy men and women who could slow their bodies to the brink of death. Their hearts beating slow, their minds quieting, their breaths lengthening endlessly. They stayed alive forever sometimes. 

 

That night as she lengthened her breath and felt her heartbeat slow was the last time Lexa was truly awake. Everything came to a halt- her heart, her breath, her life. She could feel the cave around her- feel the shuddering of the Nightbloods as they coughed and moaned and sometimes cried out- but her body was immoveable. When the noise became too upsetting to listen to, she could escape to the fog. There she could stop hearing, stop feeling, stop thinking.

 

When the last Nightblood faded for good, Lexa pulled the fog over her eyes for the first time.

 

* * *

 

She dreamed.

 

She dreamed about her mother. Dreamed about her childhood house in the woods. Dreamed about a girl she kissed once, under an apple tree- Costia was her name. Dreamed about her first tragedy- when her first dog passed. 

 

It seemed she would dream forever. 

 

Tapping is what jars her. Tapping, then clanging, then drilling. The rumble is so loud that it tears the fog right off of her. The cave is no longer dark, but illuminated by a large hole in the ceiling. It reminds her of when she was a little girl and decided to stare at the sun. She looked right at it, until all she could see was the most painful white engulfing her. 

 

_ Hey _ .

 

Lexa shifts; her bones crack from disuse. She can feel a presence next to her. It’s not unwanted- just uncomfortable. 

 

“Are you alive?” 

 

The voice is not one of her Nightbloods. It’s older, lower, sweeter. 

 

“Can you hear me?” the voice asks. Lexa, with the strength of a thousand damning suns, turns her head towards the voice. 

 

It takes a moment for her vision to clear. Her heartbeat quickens loudly. By her side is a woman...a beautiful woman. She’s dressed in a jumpsuit, complete with a weathered climbing harness and a headlight on top of golden hair that halos her head. What unnerves her most about this woman is the way she stares at Lexa. There is something discerning about those deep blue eyes. They convey so much with one look. 

 

Lexa wants to say something. Lexa wants her first words to this girl to be poetic. Something Shakespearean or Lin-Manuel Miranda-esque. 

 

But the first thing spoken to this angel is:

 

“Uhhhgggghhhhh.”

 

That snaps the woman out of her trance. She immediately pulls something from her waist and sits by Lexa. She places a hand under Lexa’s neck to lift it slightly off of the ground. Using her teeth, she bites the cork out of her small jug and lifts it to Lexa’s mouth. 

 

Lexa cannot remember another time that she was so greedy. The water is cold and refreshing and so full of life that she moans into the jug. She accidentally spills some when the girl pulls the jug back. The girl holding her chuckles at that. Gently, she lays Lexa’s head back onto the ground. She rips a piece of cloth off her jumper and wets it with the remaining water. 

 

After wringing the cloth slightly, she brings it across Lexa’s face. 

 

Lexa tries to speak after the girl gently wipes her lips. 

 

“Wh-what happened?” she finally gets out. 

 

The girl only stops momentarily before scrubbing at Lexa’s neck. By the time she finishes, the cloth is black with grime. 

 

“What’s your name?” She asks, dropping Lexa’s question altogether.

 

“Lexa.”

 

“Lexa,” the woman says, drawing out the name as if she’s savoring it, “can you use your legs?”

 

Lexa shakes her head. At that, the woman stands and turns around. Lexa almost cries out until the woman yells up the hole for someone named Bellamy. She then returns to Lexa’s side. 

 

Bellamy is not a beautiful as the girl. His hair is a dark curly mess that frames his face. His eyes are darker, body heavier, and features harsher. The freckles on his face are anything but childish. He slides down the rope with a cautious grace. 

 

He pulls out a knife when he sees Lexa. 

 

“Clarke,” he warns.

 

“ _ Chil au, _ ” she-  _ Clarke _ \-  says, never turning her head to address the man. “ _ Em nou Stedaunon _ . ” Whatever she’s saying seems to calm him down. 

 

Clarke turns her attention to Lexa. “Bellamy here is going to help you out of this cave. We’ll go to camp, where you can wash yourself and find a change of clothes.” Lexa nods. She doesn’t reek, but...her clothes have a peculiar odor to them. Like the sheets at her grandmother’s house. She’d like to get them off as soon as possible. Bellamy scoops her up and holds her while Clarke adjusts his climbing harness to fit around them both. 

 

He secures the rope with a carabiner and looks seriously at Lexa. 

 

“Don’t wriggle around. Or we will both be dead. Again, in your case.” He adds softly. Orders are shouted, and within seconds, Lexa is reborn unto the earth.

 

* * *

 

Camp is not the right term to describe Arkadia. 

 

It is a city. A metropolis. The epicenter of humanity. She can hear the noises of life long before she sees the walls surrounding it. 

 

When they walk through the gates, she gasps.

 

The people...these people are thriving. They have gardens and animals like the world was not burning only moments ago. They are dressed in rudimentary clothing made from cotton and wool. And they look at Lexa like she is unearthly. 

 

The next few days seem to go by in a blur. She meets dozens of new people. Abby Griffin- Clarke’s mother- is one of the doctors of the land. She insists on taking Lexa’s vitals every few hours. Lexa likes Wells Jaha. He is kind. He is the first to look at her without the masked pity everyone else seems to wear. Octavia Blake is Bellamy’s sister. She gives Lexa a sideways glance- not threatening, but definitely not trusting. She doesn’t linger to make conversation like the rest do. 

 

After spending a few nights in the makeshift hospital, Abby is assured Lexa is healthy enough to have a tent to herself. Clarke leads her to a less densely populated area, where a small makeshift shelter stands. Inside is a bedroll, two changes of clothes, and an oil lamp. When she turns around to thank Clarke, the girl is gone.

 

She becomes something of a legend. Small hands will pull at the flap of her tent when she’s alone, accompanied with small gasps and wide eyes. Children will whisper, “I told you she’s real,” rousing her from her midday naps or reading. 

 

Not many book survived the apocalypse- but Wells gave her access to his entire library which consisted of dystopian novels like  _ 1984 _ and  _ Brave New World _ .

 

Funny, how the world ends in a way one would least suspect it. 

 

One night, Clarke comes into her tent. Lexa starts at the noise- she was sleeping- but a gentle hand on her shoulder eases her.

 

“They’ve already checked your vitals for today?” The girl asks. Lexa nods. 

 

Regardless, Clarke grabs her wrist and counts the beats. Lexa isn’t sure if she’s doing it for the sake of her health or out of disbelief. When she’s satisfied with her readings, she sits on the bed next to Lexa and studies her face. 

 

“We thought no one survived the burning.”

 

Lexa looks up at that. “We were right all along. The Nightbloods and I...did they-?”

 

When Clarke shakes her head, the question dies in her throat. She swallows down her grief and is only quiet for a moment before asking, “How are you here then?”

 

“It’s...a lot to explain. When the world began to burn, the United Leaders and their families launched into space. They took seeds and animals so they could return after the Great Fire, but the world cooled after that. It took decades before the ice melted and the plants came back. They landed here six generations ago, in the dead of winter. Few survived but...it was enough to keep humanity going.”

 

“How do you know all of this?”

 

“I...I study it. Some of us still do.” 

 

The next few nights, after feasting, Clarke sneaks into Lexa’s tent. She carries with her a handmade notebook, a bottle of ink, and a reed that has been sharpened to a point. She asks questions of the old world, confused how life could be so different from what she has known. Lexa has problems explaining certain concepts to her. Movies, subways, pet fish -to name a few. 

 

Despite the frustration of culture shock, she keeps coming back for more. When she asks all the questions she can think of about the old world, she starts asking questions about Lexa’s life. What was her earliest memory? Her last? What did she do before the burning? What was it like to wake up two hundred years later? 

 

Some nights are more revealing than others.

 

“Were you scared of dying?” Clarke inquires. She’s moved onto personal questions now, signaled by setting aside her notebook so the ink will dry. 

 

“No, I mean, when it started to heat up I was scared. But I wasn’t when I went to sleep.” 

 

Clarke cocks her head at that, but Lexa does not know how to elaborate. It did not make logical sense in the moment, and it does not make logical sense now. She knows people do not sleep for more than a century and wake up normal. Perhaps she isn’t that normal. 

 

“Did you know you were going to wake up soon?”

 

“No.”

 

“And that didn’t scare you?”

 

“I’m more scared of what’s here now,” Lexa sighs. She meant it as a joke, but Clarke gazes at her with those big blue eyes and their hands are suddenly entangled and, oh, how she is scared of what is going on here now.

 

She swallows her emotions down and looks away. A hand against her cheek coaxes her to look back. Clarke’s closer. Her eyes are dilated, shifting between holding her gaze and looking at her lips. 

 

Lexa knows. She knows the moment their lips graze.

 

She’s a goner.

 

* * *

 

Clarke is an explorer, she realizes one day. 

 

She doesn’t come to Lexa’s tent one night, and she worries. When she cannot find the girl, she seeks out Wells during the midday meal- they call it  _ sanch _ \- and asks him of her whereabouts. He smiles softly and tells her of the salty lake a few miles away from camp. When Clarke returns later that night, she smells like the ocean and brings seashells as gifts for Lexa. 

 

It’s funny how she thought history would be done with explorers by her age. 

 

After hearing of it, Lexa begs Clarke to take her to the beach. It has been so long since she has been. Clarke is hesitant, but she relents two days into Lexa’s campaign. 

 

“We must be careful when we get there,” Clarke informes Lexa as they ride towards the beach. Lexa’s horse is roped to Clarke’s- a precaution. Lexa did not ride horses in her life before, so if her horse became spooked and had no tether, well, she would be lost again. And the explorer did not want to lose her ancient relic.  

 

“Why must we be careful?”

 

Clarke slows her horse to a stop. Beneath her, Lexa’s mare shifts uneasily. Something is wrong. Lexa strains to listen, but all she can hear is wind. Right as Lexa begins to ask what the problem is, a small body collides with hers and she falls onto the ground. Her scream is accompanied by another, different one. 

 

And before Lexa realizes what is happening, there's a knife at her throat.

 

Clarke is talking to the man in another language. It’s the same one that is sometimes used at Arkadia. It sounds like English, if English were guttural and accented. She raises her hands in the universal diffusing pose. Her tone is gentle. She’s bargaining. 

 

Lexa fears for her life when Clarke comes closer. She show the man the inside of her elbow where an biohazard symbol is tattooed. He asks a question- low and serious. Clarke nods. 

 

Then the knife at Lexa’s neck is removed and the hand around her waist is dropped. After a few tense moments, he steps around her and picks up a rope off the ground that is tied to Clarke’s horse.

 

Oh. Lexa’s horse. She must have been spooked when they were ambushed. 

 

The man talks quickly with Clarke now. He holds out the rope for her, and she grabs his hand tenderly. They share a small moment together, where Clarke smiles and whispers something. He looks at Lexa and smiles sheepishly as he makes his exit past her. 

 

Clarke is helping Lexa into her saddle when she thinks to ask what the fuck just happened.

 

“When my ancestors landed, it was the dead of winter,” Clarke explains. She looks up to Lexa like she should understand what that meant. When Lexa still looks confused, Clarke hoists herself up behind her. She clicks her tongue and the horse begins its journey again. Clarke speaks after a few moments.

 

“There was no way to plant the seeds they had- the soil was frozen. There were hundreds of people to feed and only so many animals. People murdered their neighbors to take the meat. After a few weeks, only a handful of animals were alive. But people were still hungry.

 

A faction rose out of desperation. They resolved the issue by eating other people. When Spring came, my ancestors drove them to the wilderness. Most died from exposure to the elements, but a few lived on. Their descendants still linger around. We call them  _ Stedaunon _ . It means death- that’s all the council says they have to offer.”

 

Lexa rubs at her neck; she can feel a mark forming from the attack.

 

“But you bargained with him.” Clarke looks uncomfortable. 

 

“It's not as if he would have hurt you- he used the dull side of the knife.”

 

“But why? And why did that tattoo stop him?”

 

Clarke sighs. “Do you trust me, Lexa?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Then trust that I only keep certain aspects of me hidden for your safety at Camp.”

 

Lexa doesn't know how to respond to that. There's a moment that the arm around her waist tightens and she can feel Clarke’s breath hot on her neck. 

 

“I'm sorry,” is whispered against her skin. Lexa wants to wonder out loud why it has to be this way. But she chuckles instead.

 

“It's okay, I have dark and mysterious secrets, too.”

 

“Oh, yeah?”

 

“For starters, my girlfriend sees me every night but never sleeps over.” There's a kick to the back of her foot. “I did the Polar Plunge once. I infiltrated an enemy group for a majority of my life, too. Until I realized how gay I was. And it's been over a century since I last brushed my teeth. I could go on and on.”

 

“Lexa.”

 

“Yes, Clarke?”

 

“How do you brush teeth? They’re  _ bone _ . Wait, look this way. Smile. I don't see hairs...did you lose them in your slumber?” 

 

Lexa only laughs.

 

Later, the man meets them again at the beach. He is leading Lexa’s mare by the reins, and on her back sits a small girl. The girl has kinky hair and almond skin, and when they come closer, Lexa can see dark freckles that dance across her skin. Her eyes are hazel that light up when they see Clarke. Clarke reaches out to the toddler to pick her up.

 

The girl wraps her arms around Clarke as she spins around. Both are giggling when she stops and blows a big raspberry on a plump cheek. She puts the toddler on the ground who immediately runs behind the man’s leg. She peeks around it to glance at Lexa with wide eyes. 

 

“This is Stag and his daughter Fawn,” Clarke explains. “Disha ste Leksa. Em ste kom ai.”

 

The man nods and says something fast that Lexa can’t catch. He hands the reins to Clarke and pushes past them, walking towards the sea. Clarke ties the horses together and follows him. Lexa stares at the ground near the girl- Fawn’s- feet. She’s never been really great with kids when left alone with them. But that doesn’t matter. The child looks up to her and offers a hand. She takes it. 

 

Fawn is remarkably good a building sandcastles. She uses the seawater to solidify the shape. Sticks are taken and used as support beams. Leaves and shells decorate the outside. When finished, Fawn’s castle stands tall over Lexa’s, whom misses the handy plastic buckets she used to have as a child. 

 

Apparently, Clarke and Stag were catching food to eat. They return with sacks filled with small crabs. With the help of Lexa and Fawn, Clarke digs a big pit for a fire. Stag fills it with kindle and wood. He breathes fire to life and then Clarke uses a flat piece of sheet metal to cook the crabs. As they begin to eat, Fawn shows Lexa how to use her palms to crack the shells so she can eat all the meat off of the crab.

 

Clarke and Stag are talking again; Lexa doesn’t even try to follow. She catches Fawn’s attention, who rolls her eyes as if to say  _ grownups, am I right _ ? Lexa has to smile at that. After noticing a yawn creep up on the toddler’s face, she pats her lap. Fawn understands and curls up in Lexa’s arms. Soon, the little girl in sleeping. The conversation across the fire has stopped, and when she looked up, Lexa can see Clarke studying her.

 

Stag stands and walks over to Lexa. He picks up Fawn, gently cradling her so she stays asleep. He gives one last look at Lexa, smiles, and says, “Leida.”

 

“Leida,” she repeats. 

 

The two leave, and Lexa can’t help but reminisce the way Fawn had treated her. So normally, so friendly. It was rare. No one else did that.

 

“They aren’t cannibals anymore.” Clarke’s voice is sure, almost defensive. 

 

“That’s a relief.” Clarke rolls her eyes. She scoots over until she is close enough to braid the girl’s hair. 

 

“Their ancestors did terrible things. There is no excuse for their actions. They were exiled for it. Their children were exiled because of them. Every generation after that was exiled. Once spring came, they farmed the land, learned to fish, learned to survive. They never were as desperate as the first winter. And they never were allowed to return to Arkadia.”

 

Lexa swallows as Clarke ties off a section of hair. “But you think they should.”

 

“I think great-great-great-grandchildren shouldn’t be punished for one mistake of the past. It took a while for me to realize the counsel may have exaggerated the story of the first winter for the general public to be open to exiling a group of our own.”

 

“What changed?”

 

It’s dark now, the only light is the moon and its reflection off of the water. Lexa won’t force Clarke to open up, so she listens to the sound of the waves as Clarke thinks. She is about to say that it would be okay if she did not want to talk about it when Clarke speaks. 

 

Clarke tells her of Finn. A boy around Clarke’s age that always wandered too close to Arkadia. He was followed by Clarke one day, and they became fast friends. In their teens, the friendship blurred into romance, which lead to conflict. He was  _ Stedaunon _ . Abby discovered the boy, and then the counsel became involved. 

 

Clarke grows silent. Lexa understands. She has learned much in her two months at Arkadia. When the counsel is involved, so is harsh punishment. 

 

Finn died as a result of the judgement of the counsel. They could not risk him telling others where to find Arkadia, they argued. 

 

Clarke left Arkadia after that. She found Graeme, Finn’s older brother. When he saw her grief, he gave her the initiation tattoo- making her a part of  _ Stedaunon _ . She stayed with him for three months. She then vowed from then on to change the general opinion of the exiles through her studies. 

 

“I was hoping to find a burial site when I found you,” she says matter-of-factly. “ _ Stedaunon _ burn their dead, but if I could convince Arkadia that they buried them- maybe they would be more inclined to believe that they weren’t cannibals anymore.”

 

Lexa is quiet as she takes it all in. 

 

Finally she says, “wow.”

 

Appropriate, she thinks, but Clarke looks discouraged. 

 

“I think,” Lexa pauses, “I think this means you no longer care about my safety at Camp.”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes when Lexa kisses her knuckles. 

 

* * *

 

It’s not easy. Changing people’s minds. Lexa had more luck trying to convince New York that the world was burning. She takes a more hands-on approach, hiding under the guise of ignorance. The counsel talks to her multiple times, informing her that her actions will have undesired consequences. She continues to play dumb. 

 

Clarke on the other hand, produces books of her adventures. She has chapters dedicated to the  _ Stedaunon _ , filled with their hospitality and open way of life. When the counsel threatens to burn her studies, many of the villagers threaten to take away their vote. After hearing of this, the counsel allows Clarke to continue to publish her works.

 

The counsel, Lexa has learned, is a type of representative government. Every year, the public votes for five candidates to oversee all public affairs. So support is crucial for the counselors. Which works to their advantage. 

 

The years seem to run past Lexa.

 

At twenty-four, the counsel allows  _ Stedaunon _ to enter Camp whenever they please. They are not allowed to reside there, but a victory is a victory. Lexa and Clarke celebrate with a trip to the beach.

 

They get married on Clarke’s twenty-fifth birthday. They tattoo thin wedding bands onto their skin, and Lexa pretends her tears are from the pain. The house they move into is small, but it holds all their love for each other.

 

At thirty, Clarke gets her first wrinkle, and Lexa still looks to be twenty-three. When pressed about it, Lexa laughs it off, but she’s sincerely worried. She fears she may age slower than normal- or worse, not at all. But Clarke doubts it. She teases that the two hundred years of beauty sleep will all be for naught sooner or later. 

 

They travel the unexplored south with Stag and Fawn. There they find blackberries, blueberries, and feral hogs. One hog runs past Lexa and scrapes her leg with its tusk. She bleeds and Clarke worries about infection, but all that is left behind is a small white scar. Clarke learns cherish it- her hand will skim over it as they bathe, she will kiss it as Lexa rides out her orgasm, and she nuzzles it during sunday naps.

 

At forty, Clarke opens her first library. The building is small, but it holds all of the known world. People from across the land come to study and add to the collection. Clarke hides it well, but Lexa can see the pride that seeps out of the explorer when  _ Stedaunon _  come to read her books. 

 

The counsel finally agrees to grant  _ Stedaunon  _ full rights in Arkadia. The celebration lasts for weeks. Stag and Fawn build a house next to Clarke and Lexa’s.

 

At fifty, Abby dies. Clarke collapses into Lexa’s arms after finding out. The entire village mourns the loss of the doctor. Next to them, Stag passes as well. It’s a dark time for Clarke. She begins burying herself with work- sketching local plants and their effects on the human body. When she finishes that, she travels outward to sketch more. 

 

At sixty, Clarke hands her library to Fawn. The woman, who is now in her thirties, promises to expand it with more knowledge. Both Clarke and Lexa are grateful.

 

At seventy, Clarke spends most of her days in bed, reading her studies. 

 

“Would you like to go to the beach, my love?”

 

Clarke smiles when Lexa pushes her hair behind her ear and cups her cheek. Lexa stays so warm- it is one of her youthful traits. She chuckles and replies, “I doubt my body would be able to make the trip, Lexa.”

 

The bed dips as her wife wraps her arms tightly around her. “I could carry you,” she says, inhaling the sweet scent of the gray hair. Lexa knows Clarke won’t ask her to stay, won’t tell her that it’s too hard to get around, so she lays with her love until the day is done. She does this for weeks.

 

Then Clarke gets sick.

 

At first, it is just a head cold. But when her body cannot overcome it, Clarke develops pneumonia. Lexa lays in bed with her, counting her breaths. She cries when Clarke asks if she will take her to the cave. They leave with a cart full of blankets, soup, and Clarke’s favorite books. 

 

“Can you read to me?” Clarke asks once they arrive. Clarke is sweating through several blankets; the trip seems to have made things worse. Lexa nods, grabbing  _ Pride and Prejudice _ from the book pile. She settles Clarke in her arms. When she begins chapter eighteen, she feels Clarke shudder. She kisses her temple as Clarke breathes her last. 

 

The dirt is wet and catches under her fingernails as she digs a grave. It takes a few hours- mostly because she has to stop when her eyesight becomes too blurred. She hates the way the dirt keeps falling on Clarke, so she lays a blanket on top of her body. Deeper in the cave, she finds a smooth stone that serves as a tomb marker.

 

When she returns to Arkadia, she cannot go inside their house. It is full of too many memories. Fawn insists that she stay in her home as the woman is constantly traveling in search of new lands. She sleeps in the empty room for a few nights, but the pain of losing Clarke becomes too much to bare alone. So she visits Wells, who welcomes her with a hug, a cup of tea, and a chessboard. 

 

“She would’ve wanted to be buried with you,” he says, moving his bishop out of her queen’s way. “That’s why she made you take her to the cave. Her time was up, and she knew that.” 

 

She checks him. He frowns deeply. 

 

“I never thought I’d be without her,” Lexa confesses. 

 

When he forfeits, he admits, “me neither.”

 

* * *

 

Lincoln is eighty-six when he passes. Octavia dies only a month after. Bellamy lives to see ninety. Raven passes at ninety-two. Wells is ninety-five when his grandson Quinton rushes Lexa to his side. 

 

“I’m worried,” he gasps. 

 

“About dying?”

 

“About you.” Lexa bites her lip. This is hard enough already. “I’m worried that when I’m gone, you won’t have anyone else.”

 

“You’ve done your service, old man.” He chuckles at that. She wipes his brow because it has gotten sweaty due to the fever that racks his body. He holds her hand so tightly for someone who is so weak. 

 

“What are you going to do, Lexa?”

 

“I’ll go home. After I take care of you for a bit.”

 

He dies two days later. His funeral is small, the only people present are his daughters, grandchildren, and Lexa. Faye and Eyre both give her a watery kiss after she pays her respects. 

 

Lexa never doubted her strength before. She has always been emotionally stable. But when Wells dies, so does her will to live amongst the people of Arkadia. 

 

Lexa journeys to the cave a day later. She doesn’t bring water. She doesn’t bring food. She doesn’t need it. On the way, she picks fresh wildflowers and a vine of honeysuckles- Clarke’s favorite. When she sees the entrance to the cave, her heart thumps excitedly.  

 

Clarke tombstone has barely collected dust in Lexa’s absence. She places the flowers on top of the rock and lays her body on the ground beneath it. 

 

She slows her breath as she reminisces. One breath for every memory she had of Clarke. Then one for every “I Love You”, every kiss, every moment of awe. She slows her thoughts until they become one collective chant of Clarke Griffin- lover, mentor, explorer extraordinaire. Lexa offers herself up to the fog, engulfed in the noise her beloved left in her head.

  
And once again, the fog claims her.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up of it-s-o-k. tumblr. com if you, too, love the Snap Judgement podcast and/or Clexa. Or want to yell at me about this.


End file.
